


Mea Maxima Culpa

by Colette_Capricious, DaggerHale



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, Priest Kink, Season/Series 02, powers!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:13:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colette_Capricious/pseuds/Colette_Capricious, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaggerHale/pseuds/DaggerHale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows what Sam needs. Hell, he’s needed it enough times in his life, sought it in alcohol and his father’s words and the arms of strangers. If this is how Sam wants absolution, Dean can do it. Dean wants to do it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mea Maxima Culpa

**Author's Note:**

> English translations at the end. All mistakes in Latin or translating are so totally mine. Mea culpa.

Dean really hopes no one is watching as they bolt from the car to the motel room. Two priests going into a motel room together? Not too sketchy. 

Sam takes off his jacket as soon as they’re inside and tosses it on the table, then sinks down into the decrepit club chair with a sigh. Dean goes to the small fridge and looks over at Sam, eyebrows raised. Sam nods, and Dean pulls out two beers. He opens them with his ring and walks the three steps back to where Sam is sitting.

“Father,” he says, handing Sam a bottle.

“Father,” Sam nods, clinking their bottles together.

Dean flops down on the nearest bed. “I still think it could just be suicide.”

Sam shakes his head, sinks further down into the chair, legs spreading to either side. “No. Why would I have a vision about a suicide?” He pinches the bridge of nose as if just the mention of his visions is enough to bring on the pain and takes a long swing of beer.

Dean shrugs, sits on the foot of the bed and bends down to take off his shoes. “I don’t know, man. They’re your freaky visions.” He grunts and throws one shoe vaguely in the direction of his duffel bag. “Maybe you’re just picking up random death signals. Like - suicide radio or something.” The other shoe lands on the duffel bag and Dean smiles, raising a fist in victory. When he looks to Sam to bask in his awesome skills, he becomes very aware of two things. One, Sam’s spread legs are about two inches from Dean’s knee, and two, that priest outfit is really tight on Sam and without the jacket, he looks like a really blasphemous stripper.

Dean’s not blind. He knows his little brother is gorgeous. And these last three years have been good to him. Sam’s broad and tall and Dean really needs to stop staring now. Luckily Sam’s eyes are closed. Sam reaches up to loosen his collar, and Dean chokes back a whimper. That should not be hot. Great. Not only does Dean have to deal with incestuous thoughts, now he’s getting off on priests. He is so going to hell.

Sam opens his eyes and catches Dean staring at him. Dean can feel his eyes widen and wishes to God he had some control over that reaction, but he never has. It always makes Sam laugh. Now is no exception. He could swear Sam glances quickly up and down the length of Dean’s body. The smile Sam gives him is not one Dean’s used to seeing on Sam’s face, and it throws him for a loop. He’s supposed to know everything about Sam.

“What?” He stands up for some unknown reason. The only thing he does knows is that he can’t sit there with Sam looking at him like that. He tugs at his collar. “I know I look ridiculous, but they bought it, that’s all that matters.” He pulls the jacket off and tosses it on the other bed. Now he feels ridiculous, arms and feet bare and the rest covered in a polyester priest’s outfit rented from a costume store.

Sam shakes his head, his eyes following Dean as he takes the three steps back to the fridge and pulls out two more beers. _When had he finished the first?_ Dean wonders. _Doesn’t matter._

“You don’t look ridiculous,” Sam tells him as Dean hands him the beer. “You look like a recruiting poster for the Catholic church. With that face they’d be lining up for confession by the dozens.”

“Yeah, right.” Dean’s not sure what to do now. So he just stands there next to Sam’s chair. Sam keeps looking at him and Dean’s sure he’s somehow managing to flex his muscles while drinking a beer. That black shirt is really tight. Sam shifts up in the chair, pulling it tighter across his chest. Dean keeps standing there. And Sam definitely gives him the once over this time. Dean really wishes he was drunk. Or maybe not. He doesn’t know. What he does know is that if Sam doesn’t stop freakin’ looking at him like that, Dean is not going to be responsible for what happens.

“Yeah, right,” Sam echoes. He takes a pull from the bottle, and Dean sees his tongue flick out to tap against the opening, it curls into the bottle and out again lightning quick. And Dean needs to sit down now. Or put on looser pants. Or both. 

Or neither. _Oh, okay_. He can also let himself be reeled onto Sam’s lap by the belt loops. That seems to be Sam’s plan and Dean is right on board with it.

Between one breath and the next Sam’s beer bottle is emptying out sideways on the disgusting yellow carpet, Dean’s tongue is down his throat, and Sam is grasping at Dean's arms like a lifeline.

Sam thrusts up against Dean, sliding down in the chair so he can rock hard against Dean’s ass. Sam’s hands fly to Dean’s hips, clutching and dragging Dean back and forth against his hard cock. Dean’s hands keep Sam’s mouth plastered over his. It’s all lips, hands, tongue and teeth.

Maybe too much teeth. Dean pulls back as Sam’s teeth snap shut over his lip. “Hey, easy there.” He’s going to have bruises on his hips for sure with the way Sam’s fingers are digging in. Sam moans, and even with half his blood in his dick, Dean can tell it’s more pain than passion. Dean pulls back, hand still on Sam’s head.

“Sammy?”

“Dean!” Sam gasps out, hands flying up to cradle his head. “God!” Sam twists under him, wrenching them both up off the chair and they slide to the floor. Dean kneels close to his brother, gathering him onto his lap as Sam rides out what is obviously another vision.

 

****

Back to the motel room, after the gun, and the telekinesis, and the cops, Sam is quiet, barely breathing, hands shaking as he sits on the bed and grips the sheets. Dean hovers over him, putting both hands on his shoulders. “Sammy, you couldn’t have done anything to stop him, alright? Max was already so far gone. Too far gone. It wasn’t your fault.”

Sam looks up and it isn’t guilt or regret Dean sees in his eyes. It’s something scarier. Dean’s never been afraid of Sam before, never really seen past Sammy to the six foot five killer Sam can be. Sam narrows his eyes, mouth set in a hard line. “Seven minutes, Dean. That’s how long it was from when we walked in the door until Max was dead.”

Dean opens his mouth to say something, but Sam’s hand on his chest stops him. “If I hadn’t been trapped in that closet, it would have been four.” Sam looks away.

“Sam,” Dean reaches out for Sam, hand curling around the back of Sam’s neck. “Look at me.”

Sam reaches up, hand tight over Dean’s where it grips his neck. “I would have, Dean. I would have. He...he had a _gun_ on you.” Now Sam looks at him. The pain and love in his eyes is not anything Dean knows how to deal with. This whole situation - visions, powers, Max, not to mention the almost-sex with Sam that he can’t stop thinking about - it’s nothing Dean knows how to handle. There’s nothing he can shoot, no one he can kill to fix it. Except maybe that yellow-eyed son of a bitch.

“Fuck, Sammy.”

“He was in so much pain, Dean. From everyone, everything.” Sam turns his head and kisses Dean’s palm, nipping at the fleshy part by the thumb. A shock of arousal zings down to Dean’s dick and he bites his lip around a gasp.

“If Dad...if it wasn’t for you.” He shakes his head. Dean mirrors him silently. “Even with it, I’m a hair trigger away from being that.”

“Don’t you dare...”

Sam surges off the bed, almost pushing Dean to his knees. “I’m angry, Dean. All the time.” He paces the room, hands raking through his hair. “I almost killed a man today.”

 _That’s enough_. Dean grabs Sam on his next pass. “Sam! Stop it.”

Sam stops, turns his face to down to Dean. The angle is different, but the look is one Dean’s seen directed at him all his life. Sam is in pain and he needs Dean to fix it. His hand tightens on Sam’s arm. He grips Sam’s face in his hands. He doesn’t get it, what Sam sees when he sees himself. Dean knows Sam. He’s smart, brave, good - good in a way Dean can never be. He’s beautiful and strong and Dean loves him more than anything on this earth.

“No. You are nothing like Max. Because...because...” He wracks his brain trying to find the right words. It’s so hard, words aren’t his best tool. “Because you don’t do it. You, you are...good, Sam. You’re just...good.” His grip has forced Sam to his knees on the floor and Dean bends over him, hands still cradling Sam’s face. He bends down, lips almost touching Sam’s. “You’re good.”

Sam’s breath is a short sob as he closes the distance between their mouths. Sam’s tongue gently maps Dean’s mouth, his hands just ghosting over Dean’s neck and arms. Dean’s muscles are quivering, from the position and from something else. He straightens up, gives a shaky laugh, rubs his hand across his mouth. Sam is on his knees in front of him, eyes still dark but edged with lust now. “Oh, yeah,” Dean’s voice is less steady then he would like. “You’re good.”

Sam laughs. Quiet, but still a laugh. “Says you. Not sure you’re the best judge of that.”

Dean isn’t either but he’s not going to say that out loud. He looks around the room to avoid Sam’s all-too-perceptive glance. The priest outfit laid across the table catches his eye. He pushes gently at Sam’s shoulder, nodding at the black suit. “Hey, I’m a priest. Right? See? I know good when I see it.”

Now Sam’s eyes go completely over to lust. “Yeah?” He leans up, fingers gripping the back of Dean’s thighs. “Show me. Put it on.”

Oh yeah, little brother has a kink. All the moisture leaves Dean’s mouth and he swallows against the dryness. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He pulls Dean closer and nuzzles - freaking nuzzles - against Dean’s rapidly hardening cock. “Forgive me father for I have sinned. It’s been a fucking long time since my last confession.”

 _Oh fuck_. Dean staggers away, knees a little wobbly. He feels Sam stare on him the entire time, hot and heavy against his skin. It makes his fingers feel thick and slow as he fastens the collar around his neck. “Whole thing?” he asks, hand hovering over the jacket. Sam eyes are almost all dark now, thin sliver of golden brown around the wide pupil. “Whole thing,” he says. Dean shrugs into the cheap polyester jacket and settles it on his shoulders. 

He steadies himself on the arm of the chair, the same chair he been grinding down on Sam in, and takes a moment to pull himself together. He needs to do this right. He knows what Sam needs. Hell, he’s needed it enough times in his life, sought it in alcohol and his father’s words and the arms of strangers. If this is how Sam wants absolution, Dean can do it. Dean wants to do it.

Sam is sitting on the end of the bed, tracking Dean as he walks over. He looks up as Dean stands between his leg. Sam licks his dry lips as Dean leans down and kisses him on the forehead. “ _In nomine Patris_.”

Over his heart. “ _et Filli_.”

Left shoulder, “ _et Spiritus_ ”

Right shoulder, “ _Sancti_.”

Sam grabs him for a bruising kiss, then pushes Dean back and slides down to his knees again. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

“So you said.” He rests one hand on Sam’s shoulder and runs his fingers through his hair with the other. Sam is so young and so beautiful. Sam rubs his face against Dean’s stomach. “What are your sins, my son?”

Sam grabs Dean’s hips, thumbs pressing in and rubbing against the protruding bones. “Anger.” He grips harder, thumbs digging in and releasing, “Violence, in thought and word and deed.” 

His skims his hands over Dean’s skin, around to his flanks, and slides them up and down his thighs in long strokes, watching his hands intently as his does. Dean has to concentrate on breathing deeply through his nose. “I’ve lied, and cheated and stolen.”

Dean caresses the side of Sam’s face. He knows that has always bothered Sam ever since he was old enough to realize that hustling, credit card fraud, and, yes, sometimes outright theft, were part and parcel of the Winchester way of life. _See, Sammy? Good._

Heat travels with Sam’s hands as they move up Dean’s legs, under the jacket, pulling at the shirt tucked into the pants. “I’ve lusted,” he whispers, and those clever fingers find their way under Dean’s shirt. Dean sucks in a breath as Sam reaches up his chest, rubs and pinches his nipples before moving back down, nails dragging lines in Dean’s skin. “Sam.” Heat builds between Dean’s legs, at his temples. He’s hard already.

Sam’s hands are back at Dean’s waist, yanking at the velcro holding the stripper-priest pants on. “I’ve lusted after my own brother, Father.” His face is so close, Dean can feel his breath flow over the dampness of his boxers. A shudder runs up from his legs to his throat and down again and he steadies himself on Sam’s shoulders. Sam presses his open mouth at the tip of Dean dick, still trapped under the fabric. 

Dean pants and tightens his grip. “And are you truly sorry for these sins?” His voice my be a little shakier than a real priest’s would be, but he really wants to know. Dean groans as Sam slides his hands under the fabric, around Dean’s body to the top of his ass and slowly pulls his pants and boxers down. He looks up at Dean as he does, and it’s all Dean can do not yank his mouth back onto his dick. 

“Sorry for wanting to kill a man? For lying, cheating and stealing?” Dean nods. “Yes. Always.” Sam leans in, licks a line up Dean’s body, tracing the line of hair leading up to his navel. "But not for the lust. _Confiteor vobis frater_.”

He bites at the soft flesh of Dean’s stomach. It quivers under his lips and he does it again, breathing the Latin into Dean’s flesh. “ _Quia peccavi nimis_.”

Dean’s cock twitches, flicking against Sam’s chin. He gasps as Sam tilts his head down, kissing the top of it, tongue swirling around the head. “ _Cogitatiodne, verbo, ópere et omissióne_.”

“Fuck, Sam.”

Sam laughs darkly against Dean’s stomach. “I’m going to make up for those things I have failed to do.” His hands knead at the flesh of Dean’s ass, squeezing and releasing.

“Awesome,” Dean sighs.

Sam shifts and grips Dean’s hard cock, he strokes his thumb at the slit, and more clear liquid pulses out. Dean can’t remember being so hard from so little since he was a teenager. 

Sam leans a little away from Dean, hand still stroking and squeezing. His eyes fixed on the way Dean’s dick slips through his fingers. He licks his lips and Dean is so close to coming it isn’t funny. 

“ _Mea culpa_ ,” Sam thumps his chest softly with a fist.

“ _Mea culpa_.” Another thump.

“ _Mea maxima culpa_.” A final thump to his chest. “ _Ego queso vos meus frater precor mih_.” And he opens wide and slides his mouth down Dean, driving the breath out of Dean’s lungs.

“God. Shit.” Sam’s mouth is all kinds of sin around Dean’s cock. Hot and wet and slick, his tongue moving fast and slow and dirty. Dean’s knees are trembling, and he staggers forward as Sam’s fingers trace down the crack of his ass. “Oh, God. Fuck!” he yells, his stumbling fall pushing his length deep into Sam’s mouth. Sam grabs his ass with both hands as Dean tries to pull back, and he swallows around Dean’s cock.

“Holy fuck!” And that is all Dean can take. Dean braces one hand on the bed, one hand on Sam’s head and just thrusts into Sam’s mouth. Sam is moaning, spit and pre-come dripping out his mouth, the black fabric of Dean’s jacket brushing against his face with every thrust. When he wrenches one hand off Dean’s ass to grip himself through his jeans, Dean is lost. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, Sammy.” He yanks Sam hard against him. He knows he’s muttering and moaning, can feel the words falling from him mouth as he shoots down Sam’s throat, but he has no idea what he is saying.

He is trembling with aftershocks when Sam pulls his fucking amazing mouth off Dean’s dick. Thigh muscles bunching, he pushes up off the floor, grabbing Dean under the arms and twisting them until they fall heavily to the bed. Sam braces himself over Dean on one arm long enough to open his jeans and drag out his own hard, dripping cock. 

Dean seals his mouth over Sam’s with a hand tight in his hair to keep him there as Sam rocks and moans frantically against him. “Dean, god. So good. So good.” Dean licks the taste of himself out of Sam’s mouth, Sam pleading and babbling the whole time. “Fuck, yeah, just like that. Gonna, god, gonna come.” He pulls away with a yell and comes, hot and hard and long all over Dean. 

As they lay pressed together, hearts pounding, chests heaving, Dean whispers over and over into his brother’s ear, “ _Ego te absolvo. Ego te absolvo_.” _I absolve you. i absolve you._

In the name of the Father  
The son  
and the holy spirit  


_Confiteor vobis frater_  
_Quia peccavi nimis_  
_Cogitatiodne, verbo, ópere et omissióne_  
_Mea máxima culpa_  
_ego queso vos meus frater precor mih._  


I confess to you brother  
that I have greatly sinned,  
in my thoughts and in my words,  
in what I have done and in what I have failed to do,  
through my fault, through my fault,  
through my most grievous fault;  
I beseech you my brother to pray for me


End file.
